The Uncovered Truth
by poetic licence
Summary: The sequel to Strange Choice. Harry wants a serious conversation. A conversational piece. For Ish, on her birthday. Harry/Draco.


The Uncovered Truth  
- for Ishuca, on her birthday -  
  
A draft slipped round the room and through the cracks in the floor.  
  
Sheets rustled, heavy blankets sighed, jewels clanked noisily from a bed post.  
  
"Pot-ter,"  
  
A black head burrowed deeper into the sheets.  
  
"Close the window, Potter,"  
  
Sleepy murmuring. "'Oo it 'ourself."  
  
"Pottttter." Whining.  
  
Creaking of bedsprings.  
  
A groan of sore muscles.  
  
A high up window rattled shut.  
  
Heavy, flat footsteps.  
  
Rustling blankets.  
  
"'Appy now?" Grumbled.  
  
"No," Obnoxious. "Your feet are cold."  
  
A long silence.  
  
"Potter?"  
  
A grunt from somewhere under a pillow.  
  
"Potttter."  
  
"'hat?"  
  
"Your feet are very cold." Piteously.  
  
Blankets thrown back and a head emerged.  
  
Two glares battled.  
  
"I hate you."  
  
A smirk.  
  
"You didn't say that when I fucked you last night,"  
  
A shrug.  
  
"And this morning,"  
  
A scowl.  
  
"In fact, I think I remember you saying quite distinctly, Malfoy, that you-- "  
  
Lips on lips.  
  
Parting tongue.  
  
A guttural groan.  
  
Smacking as one pulled away.  
  
"I hate you too, Malfoy." Softly.  
  
Lying back, hips aligned.  
  
Snuggling.  
  
"Your feet are still cold."  
  
A sigh.  
  
Silence.  
  
"Malfoy?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"There are only two weeks left."  
  
A raised eyebrow. "You're not going to get soppy on me, are you, Potter?"  
  
"No." Sullen.  
  
A beat. "Liar,"  
  
A glare.  
  
"Liar, liar, pants on fire." Sing-song.  
  
"Shut up." Rolling away.  
  
Silence.  
  
"Only two weeks left..."  
  
"...and it's good riddance to bad rubbish..."  
  
"...no more Hogwarts..."  
  
"...free of this dung heap for good..."  
  
"...I can't believe we're leaving..."  
  
"...I can't wait to get out in the real world..."  
  
"...no more hanging out in the common room..."  
  
"...free to do whatever the hell I please..."  
  
"...I don't want to go."  
  
"...I can't wait to get out of here."  
  
A long silence.  
  
"Malfoy?" Hesitant.  
  
"Hmm?" Thoughtful.  
  
"Where are you going to work?"  
  
"Potter. I'm a Galleonaire. Who needs work?" Scoffing.  
  
A sigh.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Just wondering," an uncertain pause. "I'm going to Australia."  
  
"Australia! Do they even have wizards there?"  
  
Roll of the eyes. "Of course. Hermione looked it up. They have one of the best wizarding schools in the world, next to Hogwarts."  
  
A snort. "Obviously pretty hopeless then."  
  
A punch. "Don't be obnoxious," quietly. "Dumbledore says they're looking for a Charms teacher."  
  
Incredulous. "You're going to teach some snotty-nosed Australians? To Swish- and-Flick?" A snigger. "Heaven help us all."  
  
Stubborn silence. Gritted teeth.  
  
"So what, Potter? You're going to the other side of the world."  
  
A beat.  
  
"To heat and dust."  
  
A beat.  
  
"To teach Charms."  
  
A beat.  
  
"And rather sexy accents, actually."  
  
A beat.  
  
"And warm weather, beaches and hot men."  
  
A beat.  
  
"Potter?"  
  
A small snuffle.  
  
"Are you crying, Potter?"  
  
"No." Small voice.  
  
"Liar."  
  
"Sing the song and I'll never speak to you again."  
  
A beat.  
  
A warm figure rolled over and warped itself in warming skin.  
  
"What's wrong, droopy drawers?"  
  
"I thought--"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
Agonised. "--you might come with me."  
  
Silence.  
  
An outraged gasp. "Are you out of your pea-sized mind?"  
  
Burrowing into a pillow.  
  
"Forget I said anything."  
  
"You thought that I would come with you? While you go and teach at some school in Australia?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Potter, have you completely fallen out of your tree?"  
  
A beat.  
  
"The school's near a beach--"  
  
"Salt water wrecks my hair."  
  
"The sun always shines--"  
  
"I burn easily."  
  
"It's always warm outside--"  
  
"I hate the heat."  
  
"Plenty of cute blonde surfers to check out--"  
  
"I'm into brunettes," softly. "With scars."  
  
A beat.  
  
"I'll get you a kangaroo."  
  
"Too much like yo-yo's."  
  
"A wombat then."  
  
A considering silence.  
  
"When do you leave?"  
  
"In a month."  
  
A hesitant kiss on a shoulder blade.  
  
Snuggling.  
  
"Can I call the wombat anything I like?"  
  
Passionate kisses.  
  
"I hate you, Harry."  
  
"Is that a yes, Draco?"  
  
Wetter, sloppy kisses.  
  
"Can I bring the jewelled underwear?"  
  
"You can bring whatever you like."  
  
Slurping sounds.  
  
Hands rubbing skin. Sensual.  
  
"Your feet are still cold."  
  
Snigger.  
  
"I hate you too, Malfoy."  
  
- finished -  
  
© Amy Crosby  
  
02-03-2003 


End file.
